


Steve and Jonathan's Ultimate Road Trip

by Kypros



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Crushes, Dad Jonathan Byers, Friendship, Gen, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, M/M, Mother Steve Harrington, Nobody is actually good at chess lol, Post Season 2, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, Steve is a soccer mom with a van, Typical Dustin and Steve shenanigans, and Dustin is a shit starter, chess club, the party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kypros/pseuds/Kypros
Summary: Or: the Party needs a chaperone to take them to a chess tournament. Steve volunteers and forces Jonathan to come with him to help drive the van. Highway cruising hi-jinxes ensue.





	Steve and Jonathan's Ultimate Road Trip

**Author's Note:**

> It's the road trip nobody asked for: the Party going to a chess tournament! Where nobody (except Max and Will) really know or care how to play! And Jonathan doesn't care so long as nobody touches the stereo! El's not invited (sorry El - Hopper is cagey and travelling with Steve and Jonathan is the opposite of laying low). Enjoy.

“You want me drive with you to Indianapolis,” Jonathan repeated.

“Yep,” Steve said, licking his lips. “It’s a long drive and I need a co-pilot.”

“And Mr. Clarke isn’t going. No _real_ teachers _are going.” _Jonathan drew out the words, as if to hope that Steve could hear all the things he wasn’t saying, his inferred ‘this-is-a-bad-idea!’ floating in neon lights in the mangled remains of vowels that were stretched to the point of breaking.

Steve, as always, didn’t have a clue.

“Yep.”

“So, you volunteered to take the chess club to the competition,” Jonathan confirmed.

“Yep.”

Jonathan pressed his hands into his face, letting out a loud, breathy sigh.

“You do realize who is in the chess club, right?”

“Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Max, your brother…” Steve rhymed off, counting their names with his fingers. “Oh, and El. But I don’t think Hopper will let her go.”

Jonathan groaned quietly and rested his elbows on the kitchen table. “You’re not even in school anymore! You don’t even go to Hawkins High!”

“I volunteered,” Steve shrugged. Then, with a grin: “Plus, it’s a bitchin’ excuse to go on a road trip!”

“With thirteen-year-olds,” Jonathan said automatically. Then: “Are any of them even any good?”

“Max is, I guess, but she has a temper. Lucas is okay, but hates it. Will is decent too. Both Dustin and Mike suck,” Steven stated bluntly, repeating what Will had told him the other day.

Jonathan couldn’t help but to let out a loud snort.

“Fuck,” he intoned. “Well, at least Max will be there.”

“_If_ we can get them there,” Steve said. “The school gave me a budget to rent a van, but…”

“But?”

“I need a second chaperone,” Steve wheedled.

Jonathan took his head out of his hands.

“Mr. Clarke is in charge of the chess club,” he repeated again. “Why do I have to go?”

“_Because_,” Steve sighed—he sounded like he was annoyed, as though Jonathan was somehow the stupid one for not understanding—“Mr. Clarke has some dumb academic science thingy that weekend—,”

“’Dumb academic science thingy’?” Jonathan raised a brow.

“—some nerd conference,” Steve supplied, then instantly shook his head. “On the biodiversity of tree frogs or something. That’s not the point. I need you to help me drive the van.”

Jonathan eyed him suspiciously.

“Nancy should take them.”

“She won’t. Already asked; she’s too busy studying for exams.”

“But it’s her brother too—,”

“It’s gonna be you and me,” Steve said with a grin. “And 600 miles of open highway. Plus an awesome playlist.”

“You aren’t allowed to pick the music,” Jonathan told him flatly. “Get the van certified. And we’ll both try and get Mike and Dustin to remember that the bishop can only move diagonally.”

“The—, the _what_?” Steve said, looking confused.

“We are so fucked,” Jonathan whispered to himself.

\---

The kids and Jonathan were sitting on the curb outside the high school, bathed with the faint light of dawn when Steve pulled up in the school’s rented grey van.

“Hey brats,” Steve said. Max, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, and Jonathan all stared at him with the empty eyes of people who were up way before they wanted to be.

“Uh, Steve. This does not look like a safe van for minors,” Jonathan said, standing up. He tapped the blank grey sides of the vehicle with the dark tinted windows, then looked at Steve meaningfully.

Lucas snorted and Will suppressed a giggle.

Steve glared.

“It’s the school’s van, Byers. Not mine. Get in, everyone, and buckle up. I brought bagels.”

“Gnuhh? You’re the best, Steve!” Dustin yelled, somehow moving from asleep-on-his-feet to headfirst into the paper bag of bagels in a span of two seconds flat.

“Share you little shit!” Steve snapped. He twisted in his seat. “Dustin, you have to share the bagels! Can you hear me?”

“Oh, he’ll share,” Max said. She still looked exhausted but now she looked murderous as well. She dragged herself into the back of the van.

“Are there plain ones?” Mike asked, trailing behind.

“You’re so boring,” Dustin snickered and Mike instantly frowned, glaring.

Jonathan had finished loading the trunk with everyone’s bags and now he slumped into the passenger’s seat. He had a canvas bag on his lap, and he set it at his feet.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve queried, pointing towards his feet. “_Drugs?_” he teased.

Jonathan looked at him like he was crazy, then opened the bag, pulling out a cassette.

“Music,” Jonathan told him. “You’re not allowed to touch the radio.”

Steve rolled his eyes and buckled himself in.

“Oh of course, Mr. Music-Snob,” he deadpanned. “Can’t have a lowly music plebeian like myself enjoy anything that’s catchy.”

Jonathan popped the cassette into the console and fiddled the stereo, ignoring him.

“Dustin, buckle up!” Steve shouted into the back of the van. “You too, Lucas! The bagels aren’t going anywhere. And give one to Jonathan. Make sure it’s plain like Mike’s, because Jonathan has boring tastes too.”

Jonathan’s head whipped around. He almost looked…betrayed.

“It doesn’t have to be plain,” Jonathan told him. “I just don’t like getting poppy seeds everywhere.”

“Jonathan?” Dustin stuck his head into the front of the van. He sprayed crumbs of bagel everywhere as he said his name. “What about cinnamon and raisin? There’s a cinnamon and raisin one left.”

Jonathan sighed, brushing mouth-bagel crumbs off his shirt and picking the bagel out of the bottom of the bag.

“Sure. Now buckle up.”

Steve turned the key. The engine coughed and rattled before it turned over, and the slightly staticky crackling of the stereo kicked in, playing Jonathan’s mixtape throughout the entire van. Steve put the vehicle into drive.

“Get ready, kids!” Steve shouted, cranking the volume on the stereo. “We’re going on a road trip!”

Jonathan swatted at his hand and promptly turned the music back down to a more reasonable level.

“We’re going to a chess tournament,” he reminded Steve gratingly.

Steve shrugged. Road trip, chess tournament…same thing. The point was, they were on their way.

\--

Dustin hiccupped an hour into the drive.

“Hey, _uh_, can we pull over?”

“Hm?” Jonathan said. He was watching Steve try to pass a truck driver, but the driver seemed determined to go above the speed limit only when Steve was right next to him. He was also not making eye-contact, which was a sure sign that he knew what he was doing. Which made the truck driver an _asshole._

“I gotta use the bathroom,” Dustin said, fidgeting in his seat.

“You should have gone before we left,” Jonathan said absently. He watched as Steve frowned and floored the accelerator. The van didn’t acknowledge his aggression for a long moment, and then they lurched forward. The needle climbed up on the speedometer. They hit 80mph and still, the truck wasn’t letting them pass. Jonathan chuckled as Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re forgetting to shift gears,” Jonathan murmured to Steve, but Steve paid him no regard, eyes focused on the road and passing the asshole truck driver.

“I don’t feel good,” Dustin whined.

“Steve, there’s a rest-stop in a mile and we better take it,” Jonathan sighed.

Steve too sighed and took his foot off the gas. The truck slowed down too. Steve floored it again. The truck struggled to keep up but he_ had_ him this time: he passed the truck and swung into the lane in front of him with a small, vicious grin.

"Gotcha' asshole!" Steve exclaimed.

Jonathan shook his head and glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Will was absorbed in a book. Max was asleep, her mouth wide open, headphones on her ears. Lucas was slouched next to Max, only half awake, and Mike had his head pressed against the window. Dustin had a hand pressed to his stomach and he was staring out the window opposite, next to Max, with a desperate expression.

“_Steve_,” Jonathan plied again. “We need to pull over.”

Steve frowned and signalled, taking the next exit. When they pulled into the gas station, Dustin barely waited for Steve to slow the van down. He ducked out the door and ran towards the convenience store.

Steve watched despondently as the truck he had tried so hard to pass sped by down the interstate.

Just then, Will looked up from his book, confused by their surroundings.

“Where’s Dustin going?”

“Bathroom,” Steve gritted through his teeth, still staring at the highway. 

“Hope he makes it,” Lucas snickered.

Jonathan got out of the vehicle and stretched, his old t-shirt riding up.

“Your shirt,” Steve said. Jonathan blinked, looking at Steve owlishly.

“Pull your shirt down, man,” Steve said, looking around to the empty parking lot. Then, he took a step forward and tugged it down for him. “We’ve got kids around.”

Jonathan could almost snicker. _Oh._

“You’re still thinking about the van comment, aren’t you?” Jonathan smirked. Steve pressed his eyes shut, putting a finger to his forehead.

“_Look._ I’m just realizing now how weird this all looks. We’re driving a van fit for a predator with a bunch of underage kids and you’re walking around with your shirt bunched up.”

Jonathan let out a snort.

“_Wooooo_ boy!” Dustin had emerged from the convenience store, chugging a large bottle of coke that he had apparently purchased. “That was close! I almost puked my guts out!”

Steve let out another sigh again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Do you need gravol?” Steve asked. “Or like…,”—he fiddled around in his jacket pockets, and pulled out a stick of gum—“something to chew on? It may help with the motion sickness.”

To his left, Jonathan snickered, murmuring something about ‘soccer’.

“Naaaah.” Dustin flapped his hand and grinned wide. “I’m fine. I just needed some pop!”

Jonathan frowned. “I haven’t heard of that remedy. Is that supposed to…help?”

“Yep!”

“I think your full of shit, Henderson,” Steve quipped, but said no more.

“Let’s get a move on already,” Mike huffed. Both Steve and Jonathan rolled their eyes. Mike was in one of his moods again. Great.

They were just merging back onto the highway when Max shifted in her seat and yawned, waking up.

“We close?”

“No,” Steve said, looking mildly irritated. They hadn’t even been driving a full hour and the kids were already playing the “are-we-there-yet?” game.

“We’ll be there by five tonight,” Jonathan supplied, unfolding the map. “We should stop here,” Jonathan then said to Steve, pointing at a small town on the map. “We can switch seats and I’ll drive the rest of the way from Nalton.” Steve nodded, but didn’t look to Jonathan nor the map, his eyes on the road.

“Want some coke, Max?” Dustin offered. He sloshed the bottle in her face.

“I’m good,” she said distastefully, pushing it aside. “You smell like vomit.”

“You threw up, didn’t you?” Lucas sniggered.

“Did not!” Dustin yelped.

“Guys…” Mike said slowly. “Where’s Will?”

Both Steve and Jonathan looked around the van. There was a distinct absence of the youngest Byers.

“_Oh, fuck,_” Steve whispered to himself, looking mildly horrified.

“_Steve!_” Jonathan nearly yelled.

“I’ll turn around!” Steve panicked, turning the blinker on. “And don’t act like this is solely _my _fault! He’s _your _brother!”

“You’re the head chaperone!” Jonathan shouted back. He lurched in his seat, the van abruptly swerving left in a sharp u-turn.

“We’re going back? Sweet.” Dustin sounded pleased. “I need more coke, I just finished this one.”

\---

They had to pull over three more times before lunch. Dustin refused to try any of Steve’s remedies for nausea, but bought more coke every time they stopped. At noon, Dustin fell asleep for twenty minutes and woke up hungry.

“Pull over, let’s get burgers!”

“I packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Steve said. “There wasn’t a lot in the trip budget for meals. Max,” he said eying the girl in the mirror. “Could you pass them out?” He didn’t trust the rest of them to share equally—especially Dustin.

“That’s because the school spends all it’s money on your stupid sports teams,” Mike chided.

“Hey!” Steve shot back. “Sports aren’t stupid!”

“They’re a little stupid,” Jonathan smirked to the right of him.

“Not helping here, Byers,” Steve frowned.

Max meanwhile dug through the paper bag of carefully sorted sandwiches and handed a single sandwich to everyone in the backseat before passing the bag to Jonathan in the front.

“Aw, this isn’t enough,” Dustin whined. “Why can’t we get burgers?

“I don’t really like peanut butter,” Lucas sniffed, and handed his sandwich to Dustin.

“Don’t give him that,” Steve snapped in the rear-view mirror. “He’s been threatening to toss his cookies for the past five hours.”

Lucas looked as though he was going to try and take his sandwich back, but Dustin yelped, cramming as many bites of them into his mouth as he could. Steve shot the boy a look of disgust before shaking his head. _Kids._

Next to him, Jonathan peeled back the plastic baggie and handed Steve his lunch.

“Did you individually wrap each of these?” he asked, digging in the bag for a sandwich of his own.

“Yes,” Steve said coolly with a sniff. Jonathan tried to hide another snort.

“Nancy was right. You’re _so_ destined to be a soccer mom. If there’s baby carrots in little baggies back there too, you’re doomed.”

Under Jonathan’s scrutiny, Steve withered. Then, he caught glance of kids in the mirror, pawing at each other for the last piece of the Max’s sandwich.

“All of you, quiet down back there! No fighting!”

Jonathan let out another not-so-subtle snort. He was giving him a smug look when Steve dared to glance over. Steve shook his head. He wanted to deny how soccer-mom he seemed, but he knew it was painfully true. He might as well embrace it. He was doomed to be a single soccer-mom to all of his kids in the back of the van for all eternity. Why else would he have let them wheedle him into taking them to a chess championship?

Jonathan then pulled a book out of his bag.

“Max,” he said, “would you like to look over some of the books I brought on chess? We should _all_,” he said, giving a pointed look in the rear-view mirror towards Mike and Dustin, “brush up on your strategies.”

Everyone in the backseat glanced at Dustin, even Mike. He was staring out the window, still chewing on his stolen sandwiches. He looked a bit green, but he also looked half-asleep.

“He’s the one that probably needs it the most,” Jonathan murmured to Steve, “but if he passes out, at least he won’t throw up his lunch.”

Steve bit his lip, holding back a snicker.

“Sure,” Max said. She took the book that Jonathan passed back to her, flipping it open. “Should I start at the beginning?” she asked, looking to Steve.

“_Uh,_ sure,” Steve fidgeted. He didn’t know the first thing about chess. He looked to Jonathan for help.

“You should review the pieces and their movements, and go from there,” Jonathan supplied, side-eying Steve like he was a complete idiot for not knowing a single thing about chess. Steve let out a small sigh. Thank god for Jonathan.

\---

Three more pit-stops for Dustin to almost throw up at and they pulled into an old hotel. Rooms had been pre-booked for them by the school administration—a room for the students and a room for the chaperones. Max’s eyes narrowed when she saw there were only two beds for herself and her four male teammates.

“Dustin, you’re sleeping in the tub,” she declared.

Dustin looked horrified.

“What? Max! Why!?”

“Will, Mike, and Lucas are less likely to snore,” she said simply. “And I get one of the beds to myself.”

An eruption of bickering exploded amongst the boys.

“I don’t want to share a bed with anyone!” Mike argued.

“Well I don’t either!” Lucas shot back. “What if you do weird stuff while I’m asleep?”

“I—, I would never!” Mike shot back looking just as scandalized as Dustin had when he was told he was sleeping in the tub.

“You can sleep with me,” Dustin snickered.

Mike reeled back in shock.

“But what if _you_ do weird stuff while _I'm _asleep?”

“I’ll take the floor,” Will substituted for lack of any real argument.

“We’re right next door,” Steve reminded them. “We’re here if you need us.” He didn’t want to get involved in their sleeping arrangements, although it seemed as though they were slowly starting to figure it out on their own.

The two chaperones had adjoining rooms to the kids. The door between the two rooms had locks on each side. Steve left them open, hoping that at least Max or Will would have the courtesy to knock. When he paused to survey their room, he noticed one key detail: Mr. Clarke had been the original designated kid-wrangler. And_ only_ Mr. Clarke. Apparently, nobody had notified the hotel staff that there would be _two _people joining as chaperones for the chess club team from Hawkins.

Jonathan was sprawled out on the queen-sized bed, one knee bent up, hand propping his head up as he read another book on what appeared to be chess. He looked like a pin-up model, Steve thought, readying to seduce him through the power of…reading? He was instantly horrified by his own train of thoughts and felt his cheeks colour. Jonathan apparently didn’t seem to realize this however. His eyes flickered up momentarily from his book and he let out a distracted: “Which side do you prefer?”

Steve shook his head. This was too much.

“I’m going to sign our team in,” Steve said, trying and failing to keep the squeak from his voice. He ducked out of the room and took the elevator to the front lobby. He collected the name badges and schedules for the teens, as well as their breakfast and dinner meal tickets—they were on their own for lunch. He returned to the kids’ room and passed everything out, told them they’d only be serving dinner downstairs until 9, so they only had half an hour to take advantage of whatever was left at the buffet. Then, he suggested they all practise their chess skills again (he made a point of staring at Dustin—Mike had listened diligently to Max in the car despite his initially huffiness, and Steve figured he was at least a little bit better prepared then Henderson was).

“Have you all figured out where you’re sleeping?” he asked.

“Yes,” Max said from where she was sitting on what was obviously her bed.

“Yes,” said Mike and Will in unison, perched on the other bed.

“Yeah,” Lucas said dejectedly, glaring at Mike. He was sitting on a pile of spare pillows and a duvet cover on the floor. Apparently, Lucas and Mike had not been able to work out their differences and Will was now allowed the privilege of a bed.

“This sucks,” Dustin grumbled. He had a pillow under one arm and Max’s duvet cover trailing from his other fist. “Why can’t I sleep in your room, Steve?” he whined. “The tub feels like sleeping on a rock.”

“Could be the floor!” Lucas chimed in.

“No thanks,” Dustin sniffed.

“Because there’s only one bed in the other room, you little shit,” Steve fired back, forgetting himself. _Oops._

Instantly, the groups eyes swivelled towards him, round as saucers.

“There’s only _one_ bed over there?” Mike whispered.

“So you and Jonathan will be sleeping…_together?_” Lucas whispered back. Max and Will let out simultaneous giggles and Dustin didn’t even try to hide his shit-eating grin.

“Shut up!” Steve flailed. “You two are sleeping together too!” he said, pointing to Will and Mike.

Will shrugged.

“This is different. You two are _old_.”

“And you know what old people do when they share a bed together,” Max snickered, waggling her brows.

_Oh my god_. Steve groaned. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.

“We are_ not_ having this discussion!” Steve declared. He turned around and walked back into the other hotel room, promptly shutting the door. _Sheesh._ Kids.

“What was that all about?” Jonathan asked, but didn’t look up from the book he was reading. Jonathan had brushed his teeth and was wearing his pajamas: a ratty-looking band t-shirt and boxers. Steve swallowed thickly.

“Nothing,” he muttered, heading towards the bathroom with his bag. “The kids thought it was funny we were sharing a bed together.”

Jonathan raised a brow but said nothing and Steve shut the bathroom door. Steve had packed his most ‘respectable’ pair of pajamas for the trip: a pair of ugly plaid pattern pajama pants his mother had given him for Christmas at one point, with a matching button up top. The truth was, he had been out of clean laundry, so the ugly plaid flannel was all he had left. He contemplated not wearing the top, but the last thing he needed was for those damn kids to walk in on him topless, in bed, with Jonathan Byers.

As Steve did up the last of the imitation mother-of-pearl buttons, he realized the pajamas were going to be useful in his accidental quest to be the least appealing, most soccer mom human being of all time. _Jonathan was right_, Steve groaned. He was basically a forty-year old woman with a brood of brats. He even had the van. _Wait_—since when did he care what Jonathan thought of him? Steve’s brow furrowed and he stepped out of the bathroom scowling.

Jonathan of course, snickered.

“What are you _wearing_?” the other boy laughed. He didn’t even try to hide it this time.

Steve looked down at himself and the plaid monstrosity he currently adorned.

“Pajamas,” Steve deadpanned. _He wasn’t going to let him get to him…he wasn’t going to let him get to him…_

“You look like something out of the _Sears_ catalogue,” Jonathan smirked. “Christ, at least take off the top.”

Steve felt his cheeks warm up and shook his head, flopping down onto the bed.

“I know I’m sexy Byers, but asking me to strip for you is going too far,” Steve deflected.

Jonathan snorted again. Then, Steve heard it. An audible _click._

Jonathan had just snapped a picture of him wearing the ugliest pajamas of all time.

_“Jonathan! _You better not develop that photo! Destroy the negatives! Or--, _or--,”_ Steve fumbled. “I’ll break your camera again!”

His threat was empty, and Steve knew it the moment Jonathan kept chuckling.

“Sorry,” he grinned. “But Nancy just _has_ to see this.”

Then, he leaned over, turning off the light and Steve sighed.

Why the fuck had he decided to invite Jonathan on this trip again?

\---

Steve woke up sweating, curled on his side. His back felt like it was pressed up against a sun-warmed rock. It was hot. Very hot. There seemed to be oddly jutting lumps pressing into the backs of his knees and backside. Steve shifted and someone sighed in his ear.

Jonathan was spooning him. It should not have been as comfortable as it was. It should not have felt this natural. And the other boy somehow managed to smell amazing. It was unmistakably Jonathan: nothing sweet or nice, but it filled Steve’s mind with images of campfires and generalized outdoorsy, woodsy sort of stuff. And body odour, but not in a bad way. And for some reason, mint. Maybe Steve was just biased, because he really, _really _liked it.

Wait a minute, _what?_ Steve groaned. Why was he having these thoughts about Byers again? He needed to wake up!

It took a significant amount of willpower to roll away. He had to wriggle out from the dead weight of Jonathan’s arm and untangle his legs. Once he got some distance, he snuck a peek at the beside table (6:48 am—twelve minutes before his alarm would have gone off) and then rolled over to get a look at Jonathan. This didn’t leave him with a lot of bed to move around on since Jonathan had snuck over to his side of the mattress sometime during the night.

Jonathan looked very soft while he was asleep—his perpetual frown was gone and his hair hung loosely over his eyes. He had a bit of drool on the corner of his lip as well. _Cute_, Steve thought. Then: _no—not cute! _ _I’m not supposed to think Jonathan fucking Byers is cute!_

When Steve’s gaze moved up, he saw that Jonathan had his eyes open and was watching him.

Steve suddenly found himself on the other side of the room, facing away from the bed.

“Morning!” he said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. He did not succeed. He could hear the mania in his voice and it was not at all subtle. “Do you want to give the brats an inspirational speech this morning, or should I?”

“Why’re you talking to the wall?” Jonathan yawned.

“Nothing,” Steve said. _Nothing?_ That didn’t even make any sense! Get it together, Harrington! He shook his head and corrected himself. “I mean, no reason.”

“You go pump them up or whatever,” Jonathan murmured, pressing his head back down into the pillow. “I’m gonna sleep more. But also, there’s no way they’re up this early. Feel free to come back and join me when you’re done figuring out that kids don’t get up at the crack of dawn. You really are a soccer-mom. You act about as old as one too.”

Steve felt a frown spread across his lips. He was straight up mocking him to his face now! That bastard—after he had thought he was cute and everything too.

“They need to get up,” Steve huffed. “Breakfast is only served till 8 and Max is playing at 9.”

Jonathan waved him off, rolling over and pulling up the covers.

Steve ignored him and lightly knocked on the adjoining door to the other room. Then, he opened it. The only one up was Will. Mike and Max were still sleeping soundly, Lucas was sprawled out like a starfish in his blanket pile on the floor and Steve could hear faint snoring coming from the bathroom.

“Hey lil Byers,” Steve said. Will looked up, nodding. He was reading one of Jonathan’s chess books.

“Hi Steve,” he said. Then: “Last night, Mike was wondering what are some of the best pieces to promote earlier on in the game. Max said rooks, but Lucas seems to think we should be favouring pawns defensively. What do you think?”

Steve raised his hands in a quick defensive.

“Wrong person to ask, Will,” Steve chuckled nervously. “You’ll want to talk to your brother about stuff like that. I don’t even know what all the checker pieces are called.”

“We’re here for chess,” Will stated flatly.

“Right. Chess,” Steve said.

“Is Jonathan up?” Will asked. Steve shook his head ‘no’, and Will seemed to deflate.

“Just do what Max does,” Steve supplemented unhelpfully. “She’s the chess genius, isn’t she?”

Will nodded, but looked unsure.

“Time to get up, brats!” Steve then shouted at the rest of them, kicking Lucas’s blanket pile for good measure.

Lucas whined and flailed on the floor a little bit, but he did sit up. From the bathroom, Steve heard a grumpy: “Screw you, Steve!” and Steve frowned.

“Watch it, Henderson!” he called back.

Mike stirred and sat up as well, blinking his bleary eyes.

“What time is it?” he murmured.

“Seven,” Steve rhymed off. “You have an hour before breakfast is over, so you brats better hurry up. I’m going to go take a shower and we’ll meet you downstairs.”

As he left the room, he heard Mike snickering to Will.

“Where’d he find pajamas that hideous?”

“Old people's stores,” he heard Max say. She was clearly trying hard not to laugh. Lucas however, was not and let out a loud snort.

“Steve looked like my Grandma!”

“Kids are mean,” Steve frowned to himself, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“They _are _old people pjs,” Jonathan said. He couldn’t see Jonathan’s face—he was an indistinct shape in the bed, his back turned to him—but Steve knew he was smirking. “You should take them off.”

Steve refused to respond to that because _what the hell_? Instead, he stomped towards the bathroom, grabbing his bag. Before entering, he tore off the awful plaid top, tossing it at Jonathan as hard as one can toss a flannel shirt. It landed with all the gentleness of a feather and Steve nearly pulled out his own hair.

He then took the quickest shower of his life, pulling on jeans and a poly-blend polo that had wrinkled from sitting in his bag over night. Steve looked down at himself, then into the mirror at his hair. He sprayed it a few times, combing his fingers through it and took a deep breath. They were going to be fine. This was fine.

\---

Dustin was sitting next to Steve, his jacket half-zipped and his hair a wet mess that somehow still managed to defy gravity. He had been late getting up and Lucas and Mike practically had to drag him out of the tub so others could use the bathroom. Consequently, Dustin had missed breakfast and was nursing an errant cup of juice Jonathan had reluctantly given up.

“Uh, Steve,” Dustin said. He sounded nervous. “I dunno if I should be doing this.”

“What do you mean?” Steve said, chewing on a cold piece of toast. Dustin eyed it hungrily, and Steve sighed, dropping the other half in front of him.

“I dunno how to play chess,” Dustin said. “I just joined the club because the rest of the Party was, and really, it was Max’s idea and—,

Across the table, Max and Lucas were fighting each other over the last of Lucas’s eggs and Will was rolling his eyes.

“—Knock it off you two!” Steve snapped. He turned his attention back to Dustin.

“Like I know the king can go anywhere it wants—,”

“One space in any direction,” Jonathan murmured—he was sipping on a cup of coffee he had forced Steve to buy for him after he had given Dustin his juice. He was reading a newspaper, however, and didn’t look very interested in their conversation.

“Okay, and the, uh, bishop—,”

“Forward any numbers of spaces, but only on the diagonal. And the pawns only move one space at a time going forward, except during the opening play, where they can move two spaces. But they can only take out an opponent by attacking diagonally.”

Steve turned to look at Jonathan, raising a brow. His bloated explanation wasn’t doing Dustin any good, who looked more nervous then ever.

“Geeze, Jonathan,” Steve muttered. “_Somebody’s _a giant nerd.”

Jonathan shrugged, eying him from behind the paper.

“No—I’m just not a complete moron,” he said. Steve’s face crumpled. _Ouch!_

“You wound me Byers!” he said, feigning offense.

“Oh my _god_,” Dustin wailed. “If you two would stop _flirting _with each other for all of two seconds, can we please focus on how screwed I am!”

Both Steve and Jonathan made immediate eye contact and Steve watched with some satisfaction as the other boy seemed to slump into his seat ever more slightly, his cheeks turning a faint pink.

Steve coughed awkwardly and shook his head.

“Language,” he reprimanded.

“You forgot the knight,” Max chimed in. “It can only move in an “L’ shape, totaling 5 spaces.”

“And the rook,” Will supplied. “It goes forward and backwards, left and right, as many spaces as it wants.”

“Wait, _what?_ Shit,” Dustin swore.

“Were you not paying attention to_ any_ of the games we played in chess club?” Mike asked.

“You weren’t either!” Dustin shot back.

“I at least know what the chess pieces are called!”

“_Brats!_” Steven suddenly snapped. He looked around. All the other tables of kids with their teachers were beginning to look at them. Steve took the moment to calm himself, incrementally lowering his voice. “I think it’s good for _all_ of you to review these things,” he said. “As a team.”

Mike stared into his juice cup sulkily and Will was unfolding a napkin, pulling out a pencil from his pocket and doodling on it. Dustin was not-so-subtly trying to poke the last piece of toast from Lucas’s plate with his fork, with Lucas battling him in return with his knife. The only one who _wasn’t _screwing around was Max, but that was because she was ignoring them all with her headphones on.

Beside him, Jonathan sent him a look, a look that could mean only _one_ thing—_we’re so doomed for this tournament. _The only one on the team who had hope of making it to the second round was Max, maybe Will, but neither seemed to have a lot of confidence right now. Actually, Max didn’t seem to care one way or the other, which was probably the best attitude to have at this point. She and Will seemed to be bonding however as the only members of the team who were either competent enough, or cared enough to try and help Dustin and Mike. Will wasn’t just doodling. It looked like he had drawn a chess board on the napkin. He tapped Max on the shoulder, and she removed the headphones, turning to Dustin.

“So the knight goes like _that?_” Dustin said. His fingernail traced the shape on the chessboard that Will had sketched out on the napkin.

Max smacked her head against the table and Will closed his eyes as if he was in pain.

“_No_,” Jonathan said, rolling his eyes and finally getting involved. He looked irritated to have to set down his newspaper. “It goes like _this_, or _this_.” He dragged a salt shaker across the napkin to illustrate.

Dustin whined softly, and pulled down his hat to cover his eyes. “We’re so fucked, Steve.”

Steve crossed his arms, eyeing up the motley crew of kids (and Jonathan) that he had dragged to Indianapolis.

“We are,” he agreed. “But watch your language. And do your best anyway. Think of it this way: we’re already doing better than most, because we’re here.”

“We’re only here because Dalhousie High didn’t have the money to send their team,” Mike whispered to Will. Will nodded and added: “And Trenton didn't have a county chess team this year.”

“And Grimsley dropped out,” Lucas added.

Steve grimaced. Yep. They were screwed.

“Finish eating your breakfast and we’ll check your schedules again. Max, I think you’re competing first.”

The group did as they were told, finishing up the remaining bits of food on their breakfast plates.

Steve turned to Jonathan. He was wearing an oversized sweater and ripped blue jeans that had a stain on the hem. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower and around his neck hung his camera. Steve then scanned the room, noticing the other tables. All of the teachers and chaperones were at least 40, well-dressed and wearing suits. He looked back to Jonathan, then to himself and his wrinkly poly-blend polo. They definitely didn’t look like responsible chaperones, Steve thought. _Hell_—they looked like kids themselves.

“So, what are your plans for the tournament?” Jonathan suddenly asked. Steve looked up, meeting Jonathan’s gaze.

“Uh…cheer on the kids, I guess,” Steve said. Jonathan’s lip twitched and Steve realized he had done it again. Soccer-mom.

“Cool,” Jonathan said, but he was definitely holding back a smirk. “I think I’ll take some photos for my Mom. She’d want to see Will and the kids in the tournament.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah, your Mom would like that."

Their conversation was cut short by Dustin’s abrupt question.

“Yo, Jonathan: what did Steve’s pajamas look like?”

“Uh?”

“Everyone said they were so ugly, but I thought they had to be lying—you’re too cool to wear Grandma flannel, Steve!” Dustin said, turning to him.

Steve instantly felt his face get hot and he smooshed his hand to his eyes. Not this bullshit about his pajamas again!

Beside him, Jonathan let out a small laugh—a few breathy exhales, really—before he smiled, side-eyeing Steve.

“They were…hot,” Jonathan settled on, smiling at Dustin like a cat. Steve balked. Was Jonathan referring to them spooning this morning? Did he know he had been doing it!? “Super hot. Cool. Stylish. You know Steve.”

If Steve’s face wasn’t already red, it was now.

“_Hot?_” Steve croaked out. Beside him Jonathan was sniggering, but he had buried his face back into his newspaper. “This morning you said my pajamas were for old people!”

Dustin looked equally confused.

“Hot?” he parroted.

“Forget about them,” Max said quietly. “We have a chess tournament to…try.”

“Win,” Steve suggested, still glaring at Jonathan.

Mike gave him a pitying look.

“Sure, Steve. We’ll win for sure.”

The rest of the gang seemed to wilt like flowers, slouching into the tabletop.

“Wow, way to go, Steve,” Jonathan said as though he was thoroughly impressed. “You made 5 kids depressed at once. I didn’t realize that was possible without cancelling Christmas.”

Steve huffed again, still glaring at him.

“Shut it, Byers.”

\---

“You made a good effort,” Steve said, smiling widely. He patted Will on the shoulder. “That was a good game.”

“The match only lasted twenty minutes,” Will said. “We won’t be advancing in this tournament unless Max wins.”

“She _is_ kind of our last hope,” Steve admitted. “Still, you lasted longer than Lucas.”

He didn’t even mention Mike: he had lost within 5 turns.

“Let’s go watch Max’s match,” Will suggested.

Steve waved a hand when he saw Jonathan walk in, Dustin trailing slowly behind him.

“That was quick,” Steve muttered. “How'd it go?” he whispered as Jonathan slid into the seat beside him.

Dustin had apparently put up an even worse fight than Mike. He had panicked within the first 2 moves, got startled, knocked the chessboard off the table and was disqualified. Jonathan assured him however, he had photographic evidence of the entire debacle. Steve stifled a laugh.

“Wow. That’s…bad. Just _bad_.”

“Screw you, Steve!” Dustin hissed from behind them.

“_Quiet!_” Steve hushed him. “We’re watching Max!”

“These chess kids are _mean_,” Jonathan said calmly. “This guy has been snickering every time Max makes a move. Really condescending.”

“He has no idea that Max has a temper,” Steve speculated. Then, with a grin: “Wanna bet on when she snaps and kicks his ass?”

“No,” Jonathan said flatly.

“You’re no fun, Johnny-boy,” Steve wheedled, but was still grinning. Jonathan frowned.

“Why do you keep calling me that stupid nickname?” he asked. Jonathan almost looked…flustered.

Steve suddenly had a very wicked idea. He leaned in very close, his lips right next to Jonathan’s ear.

“Because you keep reacting like _this_,” he whispered.

“_Gross,_ get a room you two!” Mike frowned from behind them.

Startled, Steve pulled back and realized that yeah—_gross._ What was he even thinking?!

_You wanted to rile up Jonathan,_ his inner voice chimed in. _You wanted to see him blush again. It’s cute._

_Shut up_, Steve told himself.

“Excuse me?”

It was Jonathan. Shit. Had he just said that out loud? _Fuck._

“_Uh—,”_ Steve was at a loss. Shit, fuck.

“Well, there she goes!” Dustin guffawed. Max had just stood up, clamped both hands onto the edge of the little card table, and seemed to be preparing to beat her opponent over the head with it. Her opponent was grinning, but the grin was fading at the edges as he stared into Max’s murderous eyes.

“Oh _fuck,_” Steve whispered. “Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will—get everyone’s stuff from upstairs. I’ll get Max. We’ll meet up by the main desk. Five minutes.”

The boys nodded obediently and took off.

“Steve!”

Steve glanced over to the voice, distracted by Max who was currently rounding on her opponent from across the table.

“_What,_ Byers?”

Jonathan pointed towards the competitors, his other hand covering his mouth and subsequent laugh.

Steve blinked and turned around. Max had just punched the other kid straight in the face and was winding up for a second one. Steve paled.

“I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

He moved to the main floor of the conference room. Max had just tossed the table aside and was shouting at the kid on the floor, her fist raised high again. Steve swore and took off in a sprint.

\---

“Two single-scoop vanilla in a cup, two single-scoop strawberry in a waffle cone, one single-scoop chocolate mint in a cup and…ah, Dustin, can you just tell her what you want?”

“I want rainbow sherbet and cookie dough and—,”

“One scoop is all you get, Dustin,” Steve grated, smacking Dustin on the back.

Dustin pouted and Steve sighed.

“Fine, two scoops.”

“Awesome! Okay, uh, I want coffee crunch. On a sugar cone. With caramel sauce and sprinkles.”

Steve sighed again.

“You should get it in a bowl. It’s going to get everywhere.”

“Cone,” Dustin said firmly.

“And I’d like a waffle cone with one scoop of vanilla,” Jonathan added. “With sprinkles.”

Steve gave him a dirty look as he pulled out his wallet, but stayed quiet. First coffee, now his ice cream cone. Jonathan owed him big time. The girl at the counter handed them their treats and without a word, they all sat around one of the outside picnic tables in silence to enjoy what they had to eat.

“We got free dinner, free hotel, and free breakfast,” Steve said after a while. “And we’re heading back a day early, so you’ll miss school tomorrow.”

“And we’re never gonna have to come to this tournament again,” Jonathan added. “Good job, kiddos.”

“They were assholes anyways,” Max growled. She bit down hard into the cone surrounding her strawberry ice cream.

“Yeah,” said Lucas.

“Fuck em,” said Dustin. Will and Mike nodded in unison.

“Language,” Steve murmured, licking his spoon.

“You gonna finish that, Steve?” Dustin asked, staring at Steve’s cup. Steve sighed and stuck his spoon in his scoop of mint chocolate ice cream and slided it Dustin’s way. It wasn’t even worth asking how Dustin had finished a two-scoop cone in less time than it had taken him to finish a single spoonful of his. The kid was a bottomless pit.

He inhaled Steve’s ice cream and then jumped up. “Gotta pee!”

“Too much information,” Max grumbled, but she wiped her hands on her paper napkin and stood as well. “We should all go before we get back in the van, though.”

Mike, Lucas, and Will followed.

Steve could hear Mike complaining loudly that he should get the seat closest to the air conditioning in the van, because last time he was stuck plastered against the hot window that wouldn’t roll down. Lucas was fighting back, saying that because he had to sleep on the floor last night,_ he_ should get the good seat. Steve smiled. He then turned and found himself watching Jonathan. Jonathan was contemplating his cone, which he hadn’t even attempted to eat. He seemed absorbed by the way his ice cream was melting.

Steve glared. What a little shit. He was worse than the kids!

“Eat that,” he demanded.

“Nah.”

“I bought it for you: eat it!”

“You can have it.”

“I had my own—,”

Jonathan pushed the cone in his face. Steve jerked back, then took it because it didn’t know what else to do with it (and also, he didn’t want it dripping on his favorite-albeit-shitty poly-blend shirt).

“You eat it,” Jonathan said.

Steve eyed him suspiciously but took a lick. He wasn’t overly fond of the texture of the sprinkles, and vanilla was a very boring flavour. But the ice cream was melting fast and he had paid for it dammit, so he took another lick, then another.

When he looked up, Jonathan was watching him, head propped on his hand. Steve tucked his tongue back in his mouth self-consciously.

“Why did you get this if you didn’t even want it?” Steve sighed.

“Who says I don’t want it?”

“…so why did you give it to me if you _do_ want it?”

“Food’s better when it’s stolen,” Jonathan shrugged, and wrapped his hand around the cone and Steve’s hand, pulling all of it towards his face. Steve blinked and watched as Jonathan took a huge, cracking bite of the ice cream and cone. The inside of the cone was melting quicker than the outside, and Steve could also see a huge tidal wave of melted ice cream drips poised to pour down and get all over his fingers.

Jonathan let his hand go and said in a very normal way, “You should clean that up.” As if he hadn’t just taken Steve’s ice cream cone and taken a huge bit out of it.

Steve stared.

Jonathan slouched back into his seat raised a brow.

“Well? It’s getting everywhere.”

Steve could feel himself starting to blush again. What the _hell_ was that?

“Um—,”

“Okay, we’re ready,” Max said as she walked up.

“Hey Steve, can I finish that?” Dustin called.

“Sure,” Steve said. Two could play at this game. “Just one sec.” He took a long lick up the cone, feeling the ridges of the waffle texture and the slide of cool ice cream against his tongue, then he bit down. The cone cracked in a very satisfying way. He couldn’t be sure because Jonathan was currently being tugged at by Will, who was telling him about how gross the ice cream store’s bathroom was, but there was a growing subtle pink to the pale of his cheeks that he thought he might have caused. Pay back.

Steve passed the cone to Dustin. “Don’t spill any of it in the van.”

“If it even makes it to the van,” Jonathan said under his breath. He bumped shoulders against Steve as they stood. His cheeks were definitely pink.

“So, Jonathan, you aren’t an ice cream fan?” Steve smirked.

Jonathan shrugged.

“I like it. Sometimes.”

“Hm, really? Ok but what_ do_ you like? Cake? Burgers? Anything under the sun, like that little shithead over there?” he said motioning to Dustin.

Again, Jonathan shrugged.

“It depends. Where are you thinking of taking me?”

Steve stilled, a furious blush spreading across his own cheeks. Shit: he had walked right into that one.

“I like the fries at Benny’s Burgers,” Jonathan said, the picture-perfect image of nonchalance. “We can start there.”

Somehow, Steve found himself nodding.

_“Oh_—um. Okay.”

“You’re buying,” Jonathan added.

The kids piled into the van and Steve shook his head, blinking furiously. Did he really just agree to go on a date with Jonathan? Jonathan Byers?

“Hey, lover boy! Hurry the_ fuck_ up!” Dustin shouted at him from within the van. It was enough to shake Steve from his stupor and he hopped into the passenger seat, whipping his head around to the back.

_“Language!”_

Beside him in the driver’s seat, Jonathan was quietly chuckling to himself.

“As for you,” Steve huffed. “Get us back to Hawkins in one piece, and we’ll see.”

Jonathan hummed in response, turning the key in the ignition and starting up the van.

“_And_,” Steve added, side eying him. “You have to promise me that photo you took of me last night in the bed never sees the light of day.”

“YOU WERE TAKING PHOTOS OF EACH OTHER IN BED LAST NIGHT?!” Dustin yelled from the back of the van.

_Oh. My. God._

This was simultaneously the worst and the best road trip he had been on, ever.

\----


End file.
